


J

by NairobiWonders



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: F/M, Nonsexual Nudity, Some Humor, Tattoos, cactus, mention of Moriarty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2018-12-13
Packaged: 2019-09-17 10:17:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16972707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NairobiWonders/pseuds/NairobiWonders
Summary: Posted on tumblr in two parts, pasted here so it's not lost. There may be revisions.





	J

"Watttsssonnnah... " In his irritated state, he stretched her name into three syllables. "How much longer?" His whine was verging on the pathetic. 

"Just stay still!" She ordered. "I had three year olds in the ER that were more patient..." 

"I have been extremely patient. You are working too slowly ... you are enjoying this."

"Not slowly .... meticulously. And yeah, I am so enjoying this ... " she rolled her eyes and plucked another cactus needle from his left cheek. "What possessed you to place a jumping cactus in the bathroom? The name alone should have been a clue." 

He lay on her bed, flat on his stomach, while Joan examined then pulled out another offender.

He winced. "The plan was for the room's heat and humidity to simulate the monsoon season of the cacti's natural habitat .... just didn't plan on backing into it while stepping out of the shower..." he muttered. 

Sherlock sighed. He wasn't sure which was more humiliating - his own stupid miscalculation and gracelessness or having to lay bare-assed before her while she tended to his injuries. 

"It's alright. We are almost done... "Joan continued working, extracting and setting the needles carefully aside, smoothing the tiny wounds with antiseptic. "Just a few more ..."

Sherlock settled into a more patient mood. 

"When ..." her voice lowered to a more intimate tone. "When did you get this tattoo?"

Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut. Damn it! He'd forgotten about the tattoo.

He didn't respond, at least not verbally but Joan watched his whole body clench at the mention of the tattoo - that was answer enough. She dropped the question, stopped talking and continued to work with perhaps not as much gentleness as before.

Not quite on his rear, but not quite on his hip either, Joan's eyes involuntarily flitted back to the tattoo - the letter "J" intricately decorated like the first letter of a medieval psalter or book of hours page. Joan huffed at the irony and refused to examine it any further. He had had the tattoo placed where he knew she would most probably not see it. Obviously not meant for her eyes so she wouldn't look at it; she didn't want any more proof.

Joan couldn't stop her thoughts though. Jamie, if that was her real name, was imbedded into Sherlock's being deeper than these needles. She wished she could pluck her out of his life as easily. Apparently he was never going to get over the woman. Joan wasn't going to lie to herself - this hurt, this hurt her deeply. The fact he kept it from her and did not respond to her question was even further proof of the strength of his feelings for the madwoman. She shook her head and pulled at another cactus needle, inadvertently pinching him with the tweezers as she did. He jumped but said nothing. Anger rose and she worked twice as fast.

"Okay. You're done." She picked up her tweezers and other remnants of her task and abruptly moved off the bed, plopping her things on the bedside chair.

Sherlock wrapped his towel round his waist and stood; from the other side of the bed he stared at her. The icy tone, the stance with hands on hips and eyes cast away from him surprised him. He didn't think she'd be this upset. She was cross at his presumptuousness no doubt. Should he apologize or just continue to say nothing.

"I, uhm ... I got it a few weeks back," he opted to break the silence by answering the question she posed minutes ago.

Joan let out an exasperated sigh, a hand dropped to her thigh and her frustrations poured out of her. "Are you ever going to realize just how awful that woman is? I don't know why you allow her to manipulate you, to hold you captive under this illusion that she is your one true love. And now to brand your body forever with her initial, like a vassal, a, a ..." She stopped herself embarrassed by her outburst. She raked a hand through her hair, crossed her arms before her and stared down at the floor "I .... I just don't understand."

Sherlock took all this in and with relief realized why she was so upset. "You ... you think the J is for Jamie?" He moved closer to where she stood.

Joan shot him an angry look. "What else would it be for? Justice? Jurisprudence? Jail-time?"

His eyes grew wide searched hers before finally speaking, “Joan." Her name, pronounced with reverence, carried a question and a proclamation.

She stood dumbfounded, not understanding at first and then with understanding a blinding glow of emotion tied her tongue and she stood motionless.

"How could you think anyone else would come before you?" His whisper spoke of disbelief and a certain sadness.

"But ... but you call me Watson, not Joan ... why would you choose ..." she motioned to the spot where the tattoo hid beneath his towel.

"Yes, you are my Watson in the physical world, but within .... within you are my Joan." He spoke with eyes practically closed, his voice trailed off and it was his turn to be embarrassed.

Nothing else was said, nothing else needed to be said.

Joan took a hesitant step towards him. "May I see it?" An apologetic half smile graced her face. "I was so angry, all I saw was the letter and none of the detail."

He nodded and carefully moved the towel so she could see the tattoo. "I wanted to carry an emblem of who you are, how much it means to have you with me... it does not do you justice."

With one finger she traced the letter now seeing within and behind it the hive and bees, the hexagon of honeycombs, locks, picks, hearts, small yet intricately rendered, bound by dark strands that tied everything together, all carried on the back of the primordial tortoise. "Clyde." Joan beamed up at him.

He nodded, "Couldn't not include him. He holds grudges."

Joan stood and wrapped her arms around his waist, holding him.

"Ow, ow ... Ow!" Sherlock jumped. "I think you may have missed a few needles."

Joan released him and spun him around, examining his lower back. "Yup. I see them. Back on the bed," she ordered. "You can keep the towel on this time."

"You sure it won't get in the way?" He asked with mock innocence and raised eyebrows.

She smirked at him, "Just lay down. I'll decide when the towel needs to come off."


End file.
